


two roads

by myrosebudboy



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:46:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7510693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrosebudboy/pseuds/myrosebudboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>tw: violence, mentions of blood - sorry!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There are so many ways it could happen.

I could be standing at the top of the stairs. The main flight in the middle of the school, the one that opens out into the field, the tiny one that winds through our dorm building, just large enough for one person to climb up at a time. He would say something angry. I’d sneer something back. He’d growl. I’d sneer. We would simmer beneath the surface. Then one of us would explode. He’d go off. I’d set everything alight. Or maybe we would be too angry to remember magic. He’d slam my head too hard against the wall. I would shove him down and see his crumpled figure at the bottom of the stairs. The marble of the main stairs would be stained with red. The uneven wooden stairs leading to the field would cause a waterfall, puddling at the bottom. The tiny stone stairs in our dorm building would have its mark forever, blending in perfectly. I walk up and down every day, three hundred and two steps in total across my timetable, and I try not to look for him on the staircases, because then all I see is blood.

Or maybe it would occur on the grounds, in the woods. I would lure some creature towards him, and then let it loose. I would let it maul him, tear his flesh, hear his agonised scream. I would hear shouts and see flashes and watch the grass burn red. I would attend his funeral, or maybe I would be at home, being congratulated by my family. Maybe the creature would be traced back to me. Maybe I would mysteriously disappear, and no one would ever know. Maybe it would be him who went off in the forest, and the creature would turn on me. Maybe we would both vaporise instantly. I see the woods out of the windows of Watford as I pass them one after the other and try not to wonder if the trees are just as flammable as I am.

Perhaps his downfall would be caused by my family. Perhaps one of them would give me some cursed device to siphon all of him away. Perhaps I would find some ancient artefact and simply drag the life out of him. I would curse him, somehow, or poison him, or find a way for the Mage’s plan to backfire on him, on them. Two birds with one stone. Perhaps my family’s knowledge would be enough. Perhaps we could tear both of them down with everything we know. Perhaps we could ruin them together. Perhaps I could drag them down with me. I taste bile in my throat when I find myself wondering about smashing them to pieces, the remains of their _destiny_ carelessly scattered across the floor in ashes and smoke.

Maybe there would be no magic at all. Maybe we would be in our room and fighting as usual, shouting as usual. Him yelling as usual, me snapping as usual. Maybe one of us would yell too loudly. Maybe one of us would forget and lunge across the room to wring the other’s neck. Would the Anathema go by _an eye for an eye_? Would one of us, choking for air on the floor, watch the other fall to the floor for no apparent reason, fingers desperately scrabbling at their throat? Maybe we would be in one of the dead spots, and it would come down to who threw a lucky punch. Maybe one of us would live with the vision of the other’s life forever flashing before their eyes. Maybe one of us would frantically scrub our hands raw every night after for the rest of our lives. Maybe one of us wouldn’t care. Maybe one of us would. I master spells and execute them all perfectly, faster and faster and faster and faster until I’m the only one who can understand what I’m casting, clutching at all my magic as tightly as I can.

I count all the ways it could happen in my mind, turning them over and over like red-hot coals in a roaring fireplace, burning and searing and burning every night.


	2. Chapter 2

There are so many ways it could happen.

He could realise it, the first day back at school. (I tell myself this every year.) He would see me, across the dining hall, and think, _oh_. He’d tell me in that straightforward, blunt way of his. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he would blunder around and snap at me even more because he wouldn’t know what to do. Maybe one day he would admit it to me. Maybe he never would. I watch him from across the dining hall and twist my mouth into a sneer whenever he catches me looking. I try not to notice how the shadows cast by the candlelight accent his jawline.

Or maybe we would be fighting. One of our huge fights, times ten. He’d be growling. I’d be sneering. We would be flinging insults back and forth until one of us couldn’t take it anymore. Someone would break first. He would lose control and go off and slam me against a wall and realise he was worried about me. I would shout at him, in a fit of rage, that I loved him. I catch myself dreaming too far off and drag myself back to earth. I don’t want his love if the only way we’ll be able to communicate is through a fight.

Perhaps we would get tired of fighting. (I tell myself this every year, too.) I would decide this was getting us nowhere. He would decide this was a waste of time. We would be civil. He would stop snarling at me. I would stop making snide remarks in return. Maybe that would grow into an alliance of sorts, two people utterly tired of the world too young. Maybe we would form a friendship of sorts. Maybe that would grow into something more. I watch him laugh with Penelope Bunce across the classrooms and register his glares in the corridors like a dull blow to my head, and wonder if it’s my most insane daydream yet.

Maybe we could be sitting in our room, and I’d be holding his hands in the dark, and I would watch his eyes glimmer in the moonlight streaming in from the window in our room. He’d mumble something, and I’d sneer at him, but we’d both know my heart wouldn’t be in it. He’d clutch my hands tighter, and I’d grab his arms, because I’m weak. He’d cast some spell and we would be in our own world, just the two of us, holding on to each other, feeling near invincible. Maybe we could be happy. I look at the shard of moonlight that cuts across my bed every night and snap at Simon to remember to shut the curtains.

I think about the possibility of me killing him and I think about the possibility of him loving me, and I can’t decide which one burns more.

**Author's Note:**

> i'd like to apologise for any tense errors this may have had. i would also like to apologise for not replying to comments - your comments make my day and i am so so grateful for them but as i don't come on ao3 often i don't see your comments until a very long time after you've commented, at which point i feel a little bad about replying so late. but i hope you guys know that your comments make me so happy - thank you so much!


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